


Making Amends

by Gilberrts



Series: Recall [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Or close enough, Sharing a Bed, bathtime but with Regret, i'd never thought i would use this tag but here we are, its all hypothetical and pretty casual but that might bother you, ok there are suicide mentions now, sick!fic, this is literally "trashman morrison" in my drafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-08-23 22:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8345038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilberrts/pseuds/Gilberrts
Summary: Gabriel thought he was past being concerned for another's safety ever again, but here comes Jack, making him feel things again. Typical.





	1. Garbage Raccoon

Jack awoke to the sound of a pop can bouncing off concrete. Don't ask him how he could differentiate the exact sound of a can hitting concrete as opposed to, let's say, a soup spoon hitting gravel. I mean, it almost definitely has something to do with the loss of his sight, but don't ask Jack how, because he sure as shit doesn't know. All the same, the noise makes him bolt upright and aim his pulse rifle at the source of the noise. Even that small movement sends agony through his side, and he can feel the fresh blood gushing out the wound. He takes one hand off the rifle (even though it's damn near impossible to fire one handed) to feel around him for his visor. He wishes he hadn't taken it off to sleep, but even crotchety old men like him are prone to do stupid things for the sake of comfort. Like take off the one device that allows you to see. Hopefully, the source of the noise is some hobo or stray cat. Y'know, things you would expect to find under a bridge in New Jersey, which just happens to be exactly where Jack is. But then, from a few feet in front of Jack:

“Dios mío, you live like a mangy trash raccoon.”

Fuck.

Gabriel looks down at Jack, curled around his pulse rifle like it was a goddamn teddy bear. In sleep, all the wrinkles on his scarred face smooth out, taking off years. Gabe feels a pang of nostalgia. He misses waking up next to Jack, seeing his smile every morning. He shakes his head. It hasn't been like that in over a decade, and now there's no going back. 

It occurs to him that this is the first time he's seen Jack’s face in years. He's definitely older, but Gabriel still finds him beautiful. He must be getting old and sentimental. Gabriel wishes he didn't wear that stupid mask. Speaking of which, Gabriel plucks the mask from the refuse his old friend lies in. He wishes he could pick up the rifle and throw it into the Delaware River, but Jack is curled too tightly around it to get at it.

Jack would be so easy to kill like this, but that's not why he's here. He's here to do something good for the first time in forever, to help an old friend. He picks up a pop can and chucks it at the concrete wall.

In seconds Jack is upright and has his rifle leveled at where the can hit the wall. Age certainly hasn't dulled his reaction time. However, Gabriel notes with a frown, the rifle is trained on the wall, when Gabriel is right in front of him. Jack’s getting old. 

So, he insults him to get his attention. Obviously.

Jack spins to stare at him, those blue eyes unfocused and glassy.

“Where's my mask, Gabriel?” He doesn't even say hello. What a shame.

“You mean this mask?” He bends the mask with two hands, permanently warping it and cracking the lens. “There. Nothing for you to hide behind.”

Jack’s jaw dropped in a way that gave Gabriel immense satisfaction. Perhaps it was the fact he finally got a reaction from Jack that wasn't pure stoicism.

“You. Fucking. Idiot.”

“Why so harsh, mi cariño?” To Gabriel’s eternal shame, the term of endearment is only half mocking.

“You just destroyed the one thing letting me see!”

“What?” Gabriel’s gaze flickers between the destroyed mask and Jack’s unfocused stare. It all comes together in the space of a second.

“When the fuck did you go blind?” He dissolves his physical form and reforms kneeling in front of Jack and cradling his face with his hands. Jack flinches back from the unexpected physical contact, but quickly recovers his composure. Gabriel is glad he didn't wear his claws, or any of his usual outfit today. For one thing, it's hardly inconspicuous attire, especially in New Jersey. Besides, his ability to shape his physical form however he chooses makes him plenty terrifying on his own.

“Why the hell do you care? Can't you just kill me quick and be done with it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Uhh, because I stole the promotion you deserved?”

“Jackie, that was over ten years ago, and nowadays, neither of us legally exists.”

“Y'know, I'm just gonna ignore that that's a terrible reason to forgive me, and just ask why you're here, if not to kill me.”

“Because I respect you enough to think you shouldn't be living in trash.” That's not the whole truth, but at this point, not even Gabriel fully knows why he's doing this.

“Now, c’mon, let's get you out of here.”

“No,” Jack says, and fires the pulse rifle. It would have punched a foot-wide hole in Gabriel’s abdomen, and vaporized his intestines. If he hadn't dissipated a millisecond before Jack fired. He reforms squatting by Jack’s side.

“Boo,” he says, directly into Jack's ear. What can he say? Even when he's trying to help, he's still an asshole. He uses Jack's resulting confusion and fear as the perfect opportunity to wrest the rifle from Jack's hands. He reforms by the river bank, and promptly chucks the rifle into the river. It hits the water with an intensely satisfying splash. He turns to Jack, who is (unsurprisingly) running at him with fists raised. The surprising thing is that he collapses before he gets halfway to the river bank. At this point, Gabriel's just embarrassed for him. He walks over to his prone body, nudges it with a steel-toed boot.

“Hey, rubito! You trip or something?” He rolls Jack over onto his back with his foot, and swears colorfully at the blood covering the side of his jacket. He carefully places his arms underneath Jack's back and knees and lifts him up. Jack is light, so much lighter than he used to be, and that alone sets Gabriel's mind racing with worry. Gabriel thought he was past being concerned for another's safety ever again, but here comes Jack, making him feel things again. Typical. 

“Come on, princess, let's get you fixed up.” Jack weakly raises his middle finger. He always was a charmer, that one.


	2. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what you would assume from the title.

Gabriel's been looking for Jack in a black pickup truck. It's big and clunky, but all his gear fits in the bed of the truck, so Gabriel thinks it makes up for being a little ugly.

On the walk to the truck, a passing pedestrian stops short at the sight of Gabriel carrying a bloody senior citizen through the streets at 7:30 in the morning. It's a short man in a suit, round-faced and balding.

“Sir, what exactly are you doing?” His voice is nasally and grating; if Gabriel's hands were free, he'd use them to cover his ears. Gabriel walks a little faster.

“Sir!” Gabriel casts a look over his shoulder. The man is waddling extremely fast to match his pace. Gabriel sighs. Civilian casualties would only alert authorities to his presence, so murder is unfortunately, not an option. However, a second choice appears to him.

Gabriel turns abruptly to face him. The soggy piece of white bread playing at being a man looks shocked. Apparently, he wasn't expecting Gabriel to actually pay attention.

“I'm certain my friend Jack here appreciates your concern,” he says, as disgustingly saccharine as he can, and smiles. The smile begins as a thinly veiled threat of violence and only escalates from there. The teeth grow longer and sharper, and the skin to the either side of Gabriel's mouth splits in a jagged line, accompanied by a sound similar to that of someone tearing a chunk of raw meat in half. Teeth showed through the rips in the skin, whiter than any celebrity's, and far more numerous. The man swallows hard, eyes wide with fear. He then crashes to the pavement in a dead faint.

Gabriel shrugs. He might have gone overboard, but then again, he's always been dramatic.

Gabriel finally reaches the truck. He awkwardly opens the door while still holding Jack, and deposits him in the passenger seat. He even remembers to buckle him in. He's the fuckin’ best at this forgiveness thing.

Gabriel turns on the heater after he gets in the truck. He snaps his fingers in front of Jack's sightless eyes.

“Hey, _cabrón_! You kick the bucket yet?”

Jack's hand shoots up from by his side and wraps around Gabriel's wrist, tight as a vice.

“Unfortunately, I'm still with you.”

“Good. Neither of us gets to leave.” Then he lets his hand disintegrate, leaving Jack's hand to close on air.

Jack huffs out a sigh. “You gotta tell me how that works.”

“Maybe when you're not bleeding.” Gabriel slips off his sweatshirt and throws it at Jack.

Jack laughs, which is probably the most surprising thing that's happened all day.

“Oh yeah. Forgot all about that bit.” He folds up the sweatshirt and presses it to his side.

“You better not die on the way there, or I'm gonna be seriously pissed off.” Gabriel pulled out of the parking spot, cursing the Tesla behind him that was probably hanging half a foot over into his space.

“Where exactly is ‘there’?”

Gabriel didn't answer for a long moment. He watched realization dawn on Jack's face.

“You really have no fuckin’ clue what you're doing, do you?”

“Jackie, I have been either looking for you or working for the past year. Would you, just this once, cut me some slack?”

“Maybe. If you answer my questions.”

“God, you really haven't changed, have you?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you never stop digging for answers!” Gabriel could see black smoke rising from his fingertips, curled around the steering wheel.

“Well, excuse me for wanting to know if you're delivering me to Talon!”

“Why the fuck would I tell you if I was, Jack?”

“For my peace of mind, obviously!”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light. Gabriel used the moment to let his head fall heavily against the steering wheel. He exhaled heavily. Was it too late to dump grandpa back under the bridge?

“We could always take turns,” mumbled Jack.

“Take turns doing what, exactly?”

“Asking questions. We both have a lot to catch up on.”

“Quid pro quo?”

“Like Silence of the Lambs. I call being Clarice.”

Gabriel made a slurping noise in response, imitating the famous cannibal. Jack burst out laughing, low and sudden, like the laugh itself was surprised at its own existence. Gabriel glanced over at Jack, and something tight in his chest relaxed, just a little bit. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn't end in them trying to kill each other.

This optimistic train of thought ends with the sound of a car horn coming from behind them. Jack sits up sharply at the noise, then groans in pain, clutching the sweatshirt pressed to his abdomen. The light’s green.

“How's it healing?”

Jack pulled off the sweatshirt, revealing the wound beneath. Gabriel hisses at the sight. He's seen worse injuries, but a bloody six-inch tear in Jack's side is hardly ideal. Jack rolls his eyes, peels off one of his gloves and starts poking at the open wound.

“I'm no doctor, but there's no way that's sanitary.”

“Well it's not like I can look at it, Gabe,” Jack huffs, clearly exasperated.

“Well, I can, and you are definitely getting stitches, _cabrón_.”

“Thank you, Mr. I'm-Not-A-Doctor, for your stellar analysis.”

“Well, did you even clean that thing out?”

Jack didn't answer for a long moment.

“It's my turn to ask a question now.”

“I'll take that as a no, you filthy animal.” Gabriel sighs. “Ask your question.”

“How did you escape Zurich?” Gabriel has no idea how to answer, or, more accurately, how much of the truth to put in his answer. Being in the mercenary business meant that most people he encountered either didn't want to know how he got his abilities, or were too afraid to ask.

“Angela…she found me in the wreckage. She wouldn't let me die.”

“Gabe.” Gabriel hasn't heard Jack's voice go all soft like that in so long, since before Zurich. His chest aches.

“She fucked it up spectacularly.”

“You don't have to tell me more than you want to, you know.”

“I'm trying to make things right. Being honest with you is part of the deal.”

“If you're set on torturing yourself, by all means, continue.”

“Thanks, asshole. Anyway, y'know that part of the Hippocratic Oath about not playing God and all that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, Angela apparently never took it to heart.”

“I can't say I'm surprised, not after what we did to Genji.”

“Yeah, and I was another one of her mad science experiments.”

“Is it really so bad she wanted to save a friend?”

Gabe laughed, just a little too long to be anything but hysterical.

“Oh, you think she did this out of what, the fucking goodness of her heart? Angela didn't bring me back to save me, she brought me back because she was curious.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean by ‘bring back’?”

“I mean I was gone, Jack. Six feet under, sleeping with the fishes, standing at the pearly gates, however the hell you wanna put it. I was nowhere, and Angela yanked me back here.”

“How the fuck-”

Gabriel continued talking like Jack hadn't said anything. It was like he couldn't stop himself, now that he'd finally started to tell someone what happened, the words were torn from his throat, rushed and hysterical and broken.

“We aren't meant to do that, Jack. That's not the way it works. Once we're gone, we're supposed to stay gone.” Gabriel's voice is hushed, like he's talking more to himself than anyone else. Gabriel breathes deeply, collecting himself.

There was a long silence after that piece of exposition clumsily forced into the story.

“Well, I can't really say I understand, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry.” Jack speaks softly, like any harsh word would shatter Gabriel into a million glittering fragments.

“For what?”

“For Zurich, for letting things get that bad, for all its consequences. Pretty much everything, if I'm being honest here.”

Jack half expects Gabriel to tell him to fuck off and dump him at the side of the road. It turns out Gabe can still surprise him.

“I'm sorry too.” It's barely a mumble, but Jack hears it loud and clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me a month to write another thousand words. It's just those wacky Depression Hijinks(TM) again! Anyway, updates will be short and erratic, like a toddler that chugged a two-liter of Mountain Dew. Sorry!


	3. Gabriel Does Not Deserve This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the author has a plan, so do the characters.

  
Jack sees nothing but darkness. His ears ring and he's not entirely sure it's not coming from inside his skull. There is no sensation in his body beyond the pain, and he is feeling every type of pain imaginable. His chest burns with every labored breath. His palms are scraped raw and bloody. His head pounds and he feels dizzy, even though he is stationary. His body aches all over, and it feels as if he has been bruised all the way down to his bones. None of it compares to the white-hot line of pain running across his face. He cannot move, he cannot scream. He is trapped inside his body. Through the haze of agony, he hears a voice.

“Jack! Wake the fuck up, Jack, we've got shit to discuss!” Gabriel sighs at the ineffectiveness of yelling at him, and reaches over to shake his shoulder.

The effect is instantaneous and dramatic. In one movement Jack gasps for breath, grabs the arm connected to his shoulder, and pulls it towards him. He uses the momentum to swing his fist directly into Gabriel's face. Gabriel grunts in pain, and barely manages to catch Jack's fist before it connected again.

“What the fuck,” growled Gabriel.

Jack's head tilted to the side in confusion. His mouth fell open as he remembered where he was.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

“Yeah, well, I've got more important shit to do than whine about that weak-ass punch.”

“Like what?” Jack folds his arms across his chest, pride wounded by the insult. His combat skills are almost everything he has now. Can you blame him for being a little sensitive?

“Discuss the plan with you.”

“Oh, we've got a plan now?”

“Yes, we do, and don't act all surprised about it.”

“What's the plan?”

“Ok, so I figured that wherever we end up wanting to go, we probably shouldn't limit ourselves to the States, right?”

“It's not like the government hands out passports to dead men, Gabe.”

“But I know someone who does.”

“Oh, we are definitely discussing that, but first things first: why aren't we moving?”

“We have arrived in Bloominburg, New York. Population: 413, now 415.”

“What,” laughed Jack, “you got a summer cottage around here or something?”

“No, but there is an excellent motel right in front of us. I stayed here on the way to Jersey.”

“Y'know, I hear a lot about ‘excellent motels’, but funnily enough, I've never actually stayed in one.”

“Looks like the hobo’s developed a taste for silk sheets and caviar all of a sudden.” Jack rolled his sightless eyes.

“Whatever, let's just check in.”

Gabriel looked over at Jack, a blind, bloody, and brightly costumed vigilante.

“Y'know Jack, how about I go check in, and come get you afterwards? ‘Cause I don't know why, but I have a weird, completely inexplicable feeling that that would be better,” Gabriel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hah hah,” Jack said, completely monotone.

“All right, I'm going.” Gabriel opens the door and sets one foot on the ground, before a thought comes to him. The kind of thought that has to be addressed or it will burrow into your brain and consume every idle moment you have with worry.

“Hey, Jack, this may sound like a weird question, but did I kidnap you?”

“What?”

“Like, are you here of your own free will? Just to be clear, you are definitely stuck with me until you get stitches and a bath, but I'm not gonna make you stay after that.”

Jack remained silent, gathering his thoughts.

“The past few years, I've been doing slightly more than jack shit. I've been an extremely ineffective vigilante. To be honest, I've half been doing this because I figured some kid with a machine gun would get lucky and off me by now. So what else do I have to do?”

“Jack, that's like, crazy fucked up.” Gabriel says that, knowing full well he has no room to talk.

“Plus, it's nice to talk to someone who knows me as Jack, instead of as some old guy in a mask.”

“That's sweet, but we are definitely talking about that other thing when I get back.”

Then the door shut, and Jack was left alone in silence. He had known it was coming, but it was still disorienting to hear all the ambient noise from outside the truck suddenly stop. Panic wells up in him, but Jack pushes it down. He feels vulnerable without the mask, exposed and terrified of his surroundings. The mask he'd lost had been developed for use in the field by Overwatch agents with perfect vision. It gave a general idea of your surroundings, but was mostly designed to be used to target enemies. As a result, it was terrible for a blind person to use for anything other than navigation and violence. It did not allow him to see color or fine details of three-dimensional figures, and he couldn't read. Still, it identified threats easily, and that's what Jack's missing here.

Rationally, Jack knows nobody is looking for him. He's not a big enough threat to any organization to be worth hunting down, and nobody except Gabe even knows he's alive. But fear is hardly ever rational. He can't move unassisted, he's unarmed, and he's wounded. He's a sitting duck, and that alone is enough to terrify him. His breathing becomes quick, shallow, and painful. He focuses on taking deep breaths through his nose and out through his mouth. It does little to calm his mounting anxiety, but it does stop the hyperventilating. He tells himself he's safe, there's no danger, and everything is going to be fine. Then the passenger door opens.

When Gabriel opens the door he's already got his duffel bag from the bed of the truck over his shoulder. He's so busy turning what Jack said over and over in his head, he forgets what happened the last time he surprised Jack. However, Jack does manage to jog his memory when his fist connects solidly with Gabriel's jaw, fueled by pure panic.

Gabriel swears colorfully in Spanish, leaving Jack with little doubt who he's managed to accidentally punch in the face for the second time that day.

"If this thing is gonna work, Jack, you really gotta stop doing that.”

“Look at it from my perspective. People like us don't like surprises even when we can tell what they are.”

“...Alright then. Let's go.”

“But you're not carrying me this time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really short, but I wanted to bust a chapter out real quick to make up for the huge gap between chapters one and two. Chapter four shouldn't take too long now that I've actually planned out the plot (which I should have done before I started writing). Also, can you guess who's going to make an appearance in the next chapter?


	4. It's Time for Tropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you gotta ask people for help, no matter how much you hate the idea of being indebted to them.

  
Several minutes of mildly intense argument later, they come to an agreement. And so Gabriel's arm is wrapped around Jack's waist and Jack's arm around his shoulder as they make their painfully slow way to the room.

Gabriel opens the door, and his stomach drops. It’s the same as last time he was here, with the cheap battered furniture, the shag carpet that at one point might have been white, and a bed. Just one bed.

“Ah, fuck.”

“Care to explain that remark?”

“I got the same room as last time. It only has one bed.” Jack considered for a moment.

“I don't care where you sleep, but I am sleeping in a fucking bed tonight.”

“Alright then,” Gabriel says, thinking that he cares very much where he’s going to sleep, even if Jack doesn't.

Gabriel deposits both Jack and his bag on the bed and starts pacing the room.

“So who's this friend of yours?”

“She's, uh, a coworker. And I need to tell you about who I work for. I know you're going to hate me even more after I tell you, but you have to promise me that you'll let me help you before you leave.”

“Gabe, I don't hate you.”

“Please. Promise me.” Gabriel was keenly aware of how desperate his voice had become. He hated the thought of losing Jack after just finding him, but nobody would want to stay, not after what Gabriel did.

“I promise.”

“After I got away from Angela, I didn't know what to do. I'd destroyed Overwatch, killed the best friend I ever had, and I wasn't even supposed to be alive. Since all I'd ever been good for was killing, I became a mercenary. Then Talon contacted me, and I didn't say no.”

“Gabriel, you are good for so much other than fighting.”

“Did you- did you listen to anything I said?”

“Yeah, and I think you should know that you're an excellent leader, and you can make almost any type of food on the planet, and you never smudge nail polish after you put it on, and you've got great taste in movies, and you care way more about other people than you let on, you're a phenomenal cuddler, and-”

“Jack, I feel like you're ignoring the issue here.”

“Gabriel, what I'm trying to say is that I understand, to an extent. After Zurich, I felt broken and directionless, and I've just been trying to find a purpose ever since. If you hadn't showed up, I'd still be doing that. But you're here now, and I have a chance to make things right. And I'm not going to judge you for finding purpose in a job.”

“But I'm making the world worse!”

“I've done more than my fair share of making the world a darker place, inadvertently and knowingly.”

Gabriel is perversely glad Jack can't see how surprised he looks. The old Jack would have been too self-righteous to ever forgive him. Then again, the old Gabriel would have probably killed him already.

“So what's your coworker’s name?”

“I don't know her real name, but she goes by Sombra.”

“Doesn't that mean ‘shadow’?”

“Yeah. She's a bit…dramatic.” Like Gabriel has any room to talk.

“So how do we contact her?”

“That's the easy bit. She gave me one of her phone numbers.”

“What's the hard bit?”

“Getting her to help us. Sombra only ever does favors if you have something she needs, like money, power, or skills.”

“We don't have much money or power, so do we have enough skill to be worth a favor?”

“Maybe. She works for Talon, but her real agenda is taking down Lumérico. We might be useful in her plan.”

“Okay, let's call her.”

“Yeah, but there's one more thing. Talon doesn't know who I am, they've never seen my face. Neither has Sombra, but she knows. And she'll probably know you.”

“Ok, I still wanna do this.”

“Jack, what I'm trying to say is that once we make this deal, there is no going back. If we don't follow through on our end, she's going to let everybody on the planet know we're alive. People will be looking for us.”

“Then we'll hold up our end of the deal.” Jack's voice is full of conviction, like it really is that simple. Gabriel almost wants to believe him. He sighs, and sits on the bed next to Jack, and pulls out his phone.

When the phone starts ringing throughout the room, Jack flops onto his back on the bed. After a moment’s pause, Gabriel follows suit.

“I was wondering when you'd finally call, Gabe.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You have caller ID. Let's cut to the chase: me and a friend need a couple passports.”

“You know what they say, if you're good at something, never do it for free.”

“We'll help you destroy capitalism, is that what you want me to say?”

“Perfect. Well, here it says you're in Bloominburg, New York. And I just so happen to be in NYC right now. Funny how these things work out. I'll be there in the morning.”

“Good.” Gabriel already has a goodbye on his tongue when a thought occurs to him. “Actually, could you get some supplies for us, since you're coming up anyway?”

Sombra sighs heavily. She really does need backup for the next attack on Lumérico. “Sure. What do you need?”

“We need a suture kit, and one of those extendable canes for blind people, and-”

“I don't need a cane!” Jack seized the phone from where it lay in between them, and all but shouted into it.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You're on speakerphone.” Gabriel was absurdly gratified to have surprised Sombra, for once. “And if you don't want me to carry you, you need a cane,” he said, directly to Jack.

“Is that everything you need?”

“Give me a second.” Gabriel turns to Jack. “When was the last time you ate?”

“2, maybe 3.”

“3 what? 3 days?” Jack's sheepish look confirms it. Gabriel turns back to the phone.

“Ok, so we need three pizzas, one with pineapple (for Jack), one with mushroom (for Jack), and one with Italian sausage (for both of them).” Gabriel hoped he'd remembered Jack's favorites correctly.

Sombra wanted to bang her head against a wall. She wasn't a fucking delivery boy. Still, she couldn't do everything alone, so she grit her teeth and answered. “I'll bring it. But you gotta tell me, who's your friend?”

“You'll know him when you see him.” Then he hangs up.

Sombra looks at her phone in astonishment. She never saw Gabe use any tactic but brute force, but by withholding information, he had ensured she would show up. But Sombra is still going to meet them. Many people have heard the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’, but fewer have heard the ending: ‘but satisfaction brought it back’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a kick of productivity lately, and I really hope I can finish this fic before it ends. Thank you for the kudos and wonderful comments!


	5. Who doesn't want to smell like a cupcake?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets naked but not in a sexy way, more of a I-haven't-taken-a-bath-in-five-years kinda way.

“Please tell me this room has a bathtub.”

“Yeah, I'll get you some shampoo and a change of clothes.” Gabriel pulls his bag off the bed and kneels in front of it on the floor. He doesn't have much in the way of spare clothing, but he does have underwear, jeans, and a t-shirt. He only has one sweatshirt, but it's in the passenger seat of his truck. And soaked with Jack's blood. When he gets everything together, he turns around to Jack, who should be sitting on the bed. Instead, he has one hand on the wall, one hand outstretched as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“I,” he said, bumping into the desk in the corner, “am going to take a bath.”

“You know I could just show you where it is, right?”

“Yeah, but now I have to get used to functioning without the mask again. Thanks to _someone_.” Jack presses his ear against the far wall and starts moving along it.

“Rude.”

“I mean, I'm not naming any names here. Just pointing out a fact.” Jack starts knocking on the wall periodically as he moves.

Gabriel sighs.

“I'm sorry I broke it, Jack. I didn't know it's purpose. I didn't want you to hide behind the mask. I didn't want you to act like-”

“Shhh.” Jack raps his knuckles on the surface in front of him. Judging by the change in sound, that's the bathroom door. Still leaning against the door, he finds and turns the handle. Gabriel watches as his own body weight sends him sprawling on bathroom floor.

Gabriel can't remember laughing this hard in years.

“Hey Jack, you okay?”

“I found it!” He really does sound genuinely pleased by this, which makes Gabriel laugh even harder.

“Yeah, good job,” Gabriel replied, not quite managing to stifle his laughter.

Jack quickly regains his footing and starts locating the toilet, sink, and bathtub. He then sits down on the toilet lid and starts the process of undressing.

And calling it a process is hardly an exaggeration. First came the boots, which required triggering a series of release mechanisms to loosen their death grip on his legs. And if he smelled like a sewer before the boots and socks came off, you can only imagine what the stench became. Then he removed the (empty) holster secured around his hips and thigh with clips. Next came the jacket, which is probably the article of clothing that smells most strongly of blood and trash and fossil fuels. Underneath is the collar the mask attached to, which is mostly made of metal components and reinforced fabric. Once that and the jacket are gone, Jack feels infinitely lighter, and slightly off balance. The rest of his clothing is designed for civilian use, just a high-collared shirt and heavy pants. Peeling his shirt away from where blood has glued it to the gash in his side is almost more painful than when it was inflicted. When he's stripped down to his underwear, he could cry with relief. He's been wearing those clothes for two weeks. Is this how snakes feel when they shed their skin?

“Hey Gabe, can you bring the shampoo and clothes here?

“Yeah, sure.”

Jack sits on the edge of the tub and runs the faucet, adjusting until it's hot enough. Gabe sets the toiletries on the floor.

“Hey, Jack, there's probably another thing you should know…” He trails off as Jack pulls off his underwear and climbs into the tub. Gabriel feels guilty even as he observes every scar on his body, familiar or strange, years old or alarmingly fresh. It's as if he cannot stop himself from counting every prominent rib. Eventually, his guilt outweighs the desire to catalogue every way that Jack has changed.

“Do you want me to go? I can just tell you later.”

“Why? It's nothing you haven't seen before.” Jack shrugs. “Except, y'know, I was less gross then.”

“I just didn't know if things were, uh, different now.”

“They are. But it's okay. So what did you have to say?”

“Talon wants to know where all the old Overwatch agents are. And the database is at Watchpoint Gibraltar with Winston.”

“Huh. I always wondered where a talking gorilla would go after Overwatch.”

“Nowhere, it appears. Anyway, my point is that Talon sent me to Gibraltar to recover the files. I thought that if you were alive, you'd be in them.”

“Did you get the files?”

“No.”

“So why are you telling me this?”

“So you know I was fully prepared to betray your friends, people that were once my friends.”

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds like you're trying to scare me away.”

“What?”

“I appreciate you trying to be honest here, but you have to believe me when I say I don't hate you. I want to be here, and I want to make things better between us. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Jack, I just don't want you to regret being-”

“Also, could you pass me the soap?”

“Sure. But I've done some pretty fucked up-”

“You still use pomegranate scented shower gel? Nice to know some things haven't changed.”

“Jack, you're dodging the question.”

“No, Gabe, I answered the question, and now you're just looking for a different answer. Besides, I have a question for you.”

Gabriel sighs deeply. “Shoot.”

“Why were you looking for me? Could you not read the newspapers? I sure as hell couldn't, but I still knew they all reported my death.”

“They didn't find your body. To be honest, I didn't really have any evidence that you were alive. You're the one I hurt the most. I just had this irrational hope that I would find you and try and fix things.”

“Looks like Christmas came early this year. Also, I think you're forgetting how much of an asshole I was, and still am.”

“Yeah, but when you have an asshole boss, you typically don't try and blow them up!”

“I think you blew yourself up more than me, if you think about it. Also, you weren't the only one who hated me. You had half of Overwatch behind you. Clearly, I was doing some things wrong.”

“They didn't hate you, they were just power hungry, and I wanted revenge so bad I ignored it.”

“Revenge you totally deserved, by the way.”

“I destroyed Overwatch over a promotion.”

“It was more than a promotion. You were just as qualified, if not more, so if it definitely was a race thing. And what's more, I knew that it was a race thing, and I still took the job. I threw away years of friendship for the honor of being the UN’s puppet.” He practically spits the words out, disgusted by his own past actions.

“Jack-”

“One moment.” Jack ducks under the water to wet his hair. “Shampoo, please.”

“Here. But I think you might have rushed into this whole forgiveness thing a little fast. This is the first day seeing each other in years, and you say you've just forgiven me, like that.”

“Gabe, believe it or not, you are not the only one capable of soul-searching here. I pulled a lot of shit in the years before Zurich, and I want to stick around and apologize. So if you're willing to put up with me, I'm sticking around.”

“Guess I'll stop trying to get rid of you and let you take a bath. For now.”

“That's very kind of you, but do you seriously use coconut scented shampoo? Do you also have, like, some sixty-dollar apricot scented conditioner?”

Gabriel looks at the bottle of conditioner in his hand.

“They all smelled good individually!”

“That's not the point of scented toiletries, Gabe.” They're supposed to smell good together.”

“You're one to talk, with your vanilla scented everything. Who wants to smell like a cupcake?”

“Who doesn't want to smell like a cupcake?” Jack tips his head back into the water to rinse out the shampoo.

“Y'know, when you wash all the crap out of your hair, it turns from grey to bright white. Looks like you dyed it.”

“My hair’s what now?”

“You really don't know, do you? I thought somebody would've told you by now.”

“Do I look like I have any friends?”

“Good point.”

Jack touches his hair self-consciously. “Does it look okay?”

“It looks good, but you're not passing for 25 anymore.”

“I definitely didn't pass for 25 when my hair was blond.”

“Well, it could have been worse. You could have gone bald.”

That makes Jack laugh, which makes Gabriel laugh, and it's a bittersweet moment for both of them. Things could have always been this way if they'd let go of their bitterness and pride and actually talked to each other.

“Alright, I'm turning into a prune here, so I think that's a good signal to get out of the tub.” Jack climbs out and drains the tub. He successfully remembers where the towels are from when he mapped out the bathroom, and that feels like a big victory.

“Gabe, throw me the clothes,” he says after he wraps a towel around his waist.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, just throw me the-” he's cut off by a wad of clothes thrown at his face.

“You said to throw them at you.”

“Why would you listen to me? You know I'm blind.”

“And dumber than a bag of rocks.”

“That too.” Jack dresses quickly, feeling a faint smile still on his lips. He exits the bathroom and climbs into bed, very pleased with himself for how fast he's memorized the layout of the room.

“What are you doing? It's only 8.”

“Don't you know? Senior citizens go to bed early. It's a rule. Also, I've only slept 6 hours out of the past 48. I think I've earned an early bedtime.”

“Yeah, but if you go to sleep now, then I have to be completely silent the rest of the night.”

“Why don't you just try and sleep right now?”

“Because I'm not a senior citizen.”

“Gabriel Reyes, do not for one second think I've forgotten that you're a full two years older than me.”

“I'm 26 years old at heart,” he jokes, even as he pulls off his shoes and climbs under the covers.

“Yeah, and I'm 53 years young.”

Gabriel tolerates a few minutes of quiet companionship before voicing the thoughts racing through his brain.

“Back when I asked you if you wanted me to leave you alone to bathe, you said things were different from before. What did you mean by that?”

“I meant that I still love you, and part of me always will. But you aren't obligated to be with me like that.”

“What if I loved you back? What if I wanted to be with you, like that?”

Jack rolls over to face Gabriel, who becomes hyper aware of how they are now breathing the same air. “In that case, you would be an idiot.”

“Jack, I'm serious.”

“Hi, serious. I'm Jack.”

“God, I always hated it when you did that.”

“Gabriel, if that's really what you want, I think it would be best for us to go slow.”

Gabriel places his hand on the side of Jack's face, idly rubbing his thumb across his cheekbone. “How slow are we talking here?”

“Glacially slow,” Jack replies, even as he moves closer.

Gabriel presses a chaste kiss to Jack's chapped lips. He catalogues everything aspect of that moment, traps it in amber. The way Jack's eyes were still closed even after Gabriel pulled away. The smile that appears on his face, small and sweet.

“Well, goodnight.” Then Jack turns onto his side, away from Gabriel.

“Aw, don't be like that.” Gabriel slings his arm over Jack's waist. “Earlier I heard you say I was a phenomenal cuddler.”

“Good night, Gabe.”

“Good night, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super excited for this next chapter! Hope to post soon!


	6. Adventures in Unnecessary Dramatics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bitch is back, and she's got a fuckload of opinions and a favor to ask.

When Gabriel wakes up to maybe the worst thing possible. Sombra, standing at the foot of the foot of the bed, looking for all the world like the cat who caught the canary.

“Why can't you just knock, like a normal person?”

“Gabe, I have a question for you, and you have to answer honestly. Are you fucking somebody's grandpa?”

Just then, Jack sits up, his voice groggy with sleep. “Gabe, is this Sombra?”

Sombra’s eyes go as wide as dinner plates, an enormous goofy smile spreads across her face. “You're fucking Jack Morrison?”

“We were just sleeping-”

Before Gabriel can talk anymore, she doubles over with laughter. Sombra stumbles over to the bed and sits down, face flushed.

“Are you done yet?” Jack sounds grumpy, but Gabriel can read his face, and knows he is anything but. He knows how Jack feels. Sombra reminds him of Lena too.

“Can you not see how funny this is? Gabe, you literally tried to blow him up! And now he's the fuckin’ little spoon!”

“I like being cozy,” muttered Jack.

“We've already talked about Zurich,” said Gabriel.

“And you're both suddenly cool with it?”

“Well, not ‘suddenly’, but that about sums it up,” admits Jack.

Gabriel looks at the clock. “It's 3:22 AM. I thought you weren't going to be here until morning.”

“Yeah, well I finished up my business in the city early, I was so curious about your friend. And trust me, you did not disappoint.”

Jack's stomach gurgles like some eldritch abomination at that moment. “Did you bring the pizza?”

“Yeah, it's on the bed. What are you, bl-” Sombra momentarily looks down at the cane in her hand. “Oh. Shit.”

“Finally got it, Sherlock?”

“No need to be rude, Gabe. Sorry about that.”

“It's okay. Gabe fucked up way worse before he figured it out, if it's any consolation.”

Gabriel pulls a box of pizza in between him and Jack. Luckily, it's the one with Italian sausage. They both grab a slice and start eating ravenously.

“So I know you became a mercenary, Gabe.” She nods in Jack's direction. “But what's he been doing the past few years?”

Jack sighed. How was he going to explain his ill-advised and poorly planned foray into vigilantism? Luckily, Gabe solves the problem for him.

“Go look in the bathroom,” Gabe says, around a mouthful of pizza.

“That is a request that rarely ends well,” she says, even as she moves towards the bathroom. Curiosity is a powerful motivator. “Gabe, if there's a corpse in the bathtub, I swear to-” She opens the door and sees the jacket lying on the floor.

“That explain anything for you?” Gabriel feels intensely smug for surprising Sombra. Sometimes, her methods of gathering information made her seem practically omniscient. It's good to realize there are some things even she doesn't know.

“Gabriel Reyes, you are full of surprises today.” Somehow, her smile is even bigger.

“Gabe, what does she know now? What was in the bathroom?” Before he can calm Jack's mounting anxiety, Sombra bursts out.

“You're Soldier:76!” She points at him, even though hand gestures are pretty much wasted on Jack at this point.

“I'm what now?”

“You're the vigilante appearing all over North America. People call you Soldier:76.”

“Why the fuck would they call me that?”

“Uh, maybe because you carry a military-issue pulse rifle, and you have a big-ass 76 on the back of your jacket.”

“I do?” Jack seems incredibly distraught by this simple observation.

“Jack...did you not know what you were wearing?”

Jack cradles his face in his hands. “I thought it was just a normal jacket,” he says, sounding absolutely miserable. “I've been walking around with a large, easily identifiable target on my back. I'm the worst vigilante ever.”

Gabriel awkwardly pats his back, just because it seems like the right thing to do. “I interrogated some of the people you left behind while I was looking for you. Going off of what they said, you're doing really well with the dramatic and brutally violent aspects of the job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And if it's any consolation, it's way less flashy than your Strike Commander getup.”

Sombra turns her mischievous eyes on Gabriel. “At least you didn't dress like that on purpose, Jack. Some people I work with wear the most ridiculous costumes because they think it looks cool. I wish you could see Gabriel's work attire.”

Gabriel starts pleading with his eyes at that point. If there is a god, Sombra will be struck by lightning at that very second, before she can say another word.

“What does he wear? He just used to wear jeans and a sweatshirt during missions.”

“Oh, it's absolutely hilarious. His whole theme is death and shit, like he actually tells people to call him Reaper. And he wears this huge black coat that goes down to his ankles-”

“Gabriel Reyes, you gave me shit about my coat every fucking day, for ten goddamn years!”

“But that's not even the best part. The coat’s got this big-ass hood, I think it's supposed to make him look more like the grim reaper or some shit. And he wears this mask that looks like a cross between a skull and a barn owl.”

“Wait, do people actually call him Reaper?

“Yeah, definitely! Literally everybody at Talon is scared to death of him, except for me and Widowmaker, and I don't think she's actually capable of fear anymore.”

“I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. Gabe used to spend six months out of the year creating his Halloween costume.”

“Look at it from my perspective here. I'm undead, work for a terrorist organization, and my abilities include turning into a cloud of black smoke. Can you blame me for rolling with the ‘death’ theme?”

“Yeah, I guess the dramatics come with the job,” Jack says, and grabs another slice of pizza.

Gabriel sighs in relief. That topic of discussion seems to be over, for the time being. He decides to bring the conversation back to business.

“Sombra, can you get us the passports or not?”

“Do deer eat birds if the opportunity appears?”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“The answer to both questions is: of course, you idiot.”

Jack looks clearly distraught by this news about Bambi. “I thought they were herbivores.”

“Animals are, above all, opportunists.”

“Just hand over the passports,” growls Gabriel.

“I've set up the template, but I need your photos and the names you'd like on them. Gabriel, stand against the wall while I take your picture.”

Gabriel does as she asked. After the photo is taken, Sombra starts tapping at one of her holographic screens. It's infuriating to watch her manipulate the technology, mostly because he has no idea what she's doing. He was never very good with technology, mostly because Blackwatch was always given inferior, outdated equipment.

“So what do you want for your new name?”

“Gabriel Ramirez. My brother married a Ramirez.”

“Alright then,” she says, typing in the information.

She produces a plastic rectangular prism, maybe half the size of a shoebox. Sombra taps her screen once, then dismisses the displays with a wave of her hand. The printer whirs noisily for a minute, then spits out a passport card. Sure enough, Gabriel Ramirez’s sullen face looks up at him.

“Jack, your turn.” He gets up and has his picture taken, though Gabriel has to maneuver him so he's actually facing the camera.

“So, what do you want me to put as your-”

“Jack Goff,” he says, completely deadpan.

Sombra looks at Jack, with an enormous grin on her face. Gabriel glares at her and shakes his head. She goes ahead and types ‘Jack Goff’ in.

Gabriel turns to Jack. “You are the most immature senior citizen I've ever met.”

“I don't even qualify for the senior citizen discount for another decade and a half,” he says indignantly.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You're not old until you can get free drinks at Taco Bell. It's a fact of life.”

“Says who?

“Sorry Gabe, I don't make the rules.”

“Remind me why I went looking for you again?”

“Because you're madly in love with me,” he replies triumphantly.

“I take it back,” Gabe grumbles, less because he disagrees with Jack, and more because he likes talking to him without having to be serious.

“Gabriel, you cut deep. I don't know if my heart will ever mend,” he says, with all the drama of a man reciting Shakespeare. Jack staggers towards the bed and flops down on his back, hand over his “broken heart”.

“It could just be cardiac arrest, y'know. It's common in men of your age.”

“Could be. It's the number one killer in the United States.”

Gabriel gives up on holding back his laughter then. Jack is right behind him.

“I've seen you turn into a cloud of black smoke, but somehow, this is the weirdest thing I've ever seen,” Sombra says, reminding them that, yes, she was still there.

“Why are you surprised? I'm a fun guy.”

“Yeah, and Widowmaker raises puppies in her spare time. Here's your passport, Jack Goff.”

“What? I thought passport cards were only valid in North America.”

“Used to be that way, until they replaced the booklets with cards a few years back. Stupid decision, really. It's very easy to hack the chips they use.”

“We've eaten and gotten the passports. Where's the suture kit?” Gabriel picks up the pizza boxes and puts them to the right of the bed.

“Oh joy, I sure do love getting stitches,” says Jack, completely monotone.

Sombra passes Gabriel the kit, who pulls Jack's shirt up over his stomach. Sombra hisses at the ugliness of the wound.

Then, because she has no filter, “Congrats on keeping the abs, grandpa.”

“Thanks. It's about time someone noticed.”

“Sorry Jack, I'm a little too busy fixing your mistake to fawn over how dreamy you are at the moment.”

Jack curses when Gabriel wipes the gash with antiseptic. However, he remains still and silent as Gabriel sews him up, quick and efficient. Jack knows from the feeling of the needle passing through him that he's using a simple interrupted suture. Good choice.

Gabriel straightens up and puts a bandage on it. He sits down on the bed next to Jack.

“There. Mistake fixed. Sombra, you're good to go now.”

“Actually-”

“That was just a nice way of telling you to fuck off.”

“What about our deal?”

“When you need that favor, you know how to find me.”

“I'm cashing in that favor now.”

“What? I thought you were still planning your next attack!”

“That was until I found out your friend is Jack Morrison.”

“I don't have my gear, and I can't fight very well without it, for obvious reasons.”

“I don't need you to fight. I need you to make an introduction.”

“What?”

“You see, right after Gabe’s disastrous mission at Watchpoint Gibraltar, Winston sent out a signal to all former Overwatch agents. Well, all the agents Winston knew were alive, at any rate. Up to this point, it has been in my best interests to pretend to be loyal to Talon, because they offered resources and access to people and places I would not be able to get on my own. But now, I think this reformed Overwatch can provide all these things. I simply need you to give me some credibility when I go to offer my services.”

“I'm not going to do that just so you can end up betraying them.” Jack's sitting up now, a hard edge to his voice.

“They were our friends, at one point,” growls Gabriel.

“I'm not going to betray them. My goal is to expose corruption and destroy it. Corruption is what destroyed Overwatch in the first place. Don't you think they'd want to take a hard stance against it?”

“Has anyone even answered the call?” Gabriel crosses his arms across his chest. Maybe he could still get him and Jack out of doing this.

“Tracer, Torbjörn, Reinhardt, Mccree, Mercy, Mei, Genji and his teacher, a Shambali monk named Zenyatta. And if she can make it, possibly Widowmaker.”

“Why would Widowmaker join?”

“If she shows up, ask her,” Sombra says. There is a strong chance Amélie is dead or being reconditioned as they speak, but she's still hoping.

“Jack, I don't know what they're going to do if I go there. I didn't exactly die a hero, if you remember.”

“Gabe, I don't think they'll be excited to see me again either. Plus, think of all the positives. We won't owe Sombra anymore, Winston could make me a new visor, and this is our chance to apologize. We both want to make things right, Gabe. This is our chance.” Jack's voice is so desperately sincere, filled with conviction. He sounds like the old Jack again, the man that always meant what he said, and could not be swayed from what he knew to be right.

Gabriel knows then that he's going to go along with this plan, no matter how much his insides twist at the thought of facing Angela again. Jack isn't the only one he fucked over with the destruction of Overwatch, and he's got to face that.

“I'll do it, but I'm going to complain the entire time, just so you know.”

Jack surges forward and wraps his arms around him. Gabriel can feel how cold his hands are through the back of his shirt, but his chest is warm. Being held like this is something he thought he'd never have again, least of all with Jack.

“It'd be kinda weird if you didn't,” he says over Gabriel's shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is criminally short compared to most people's standards, and is still over twice as long as any other chapter in this work. Let me know if you would be interested in a widowtracer fic that ties in with this one.


	7. Dread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the election of Trump, I've been dreading January. At the same time, I wish I could launch directly into his presidency, just to avoid the agony of waiting and get straight to the awful bits. I may have projected this onto Gabriel.

The truck pulls into the Salvation Army parking lot.

“Remind me why we decided to come here again?”

“Well, first of all, Jack is wearing a shirt and pants two sizes too big, has a bloodstain on the front of his shirt, and is wearing knee-high metal combat boots. Also, neither of you have coats or jackets, despite it being the 5th of December.”

“I don't really get cold anymore.” Gabriel would rather they got to Gibraltar as soon as possible. He feels like a man given a death sentence, and just wishes he could end the torture of waiting.

“Why is that, Gabe? Because you're already cold and dead on the inside?” Sombra’s sitting in the back seat, but she leans forward to mock him.

“No, it's because he puts off heat like a furnace.” Jack remembers last night. It was like getting spooned by an oven.

Sombra lays a hand on Gabriel's forearm.

“You feel like an overheated computer,” she says in wonder.

“Alright, I get it. I'm hot. Can we just get the clothes and leave?”

Jack manages to locate the sidewalk without falling on his face, so that's a win. He can feel the differences in surface and texture when he strikes the cane on asphalt and concrete. It's strange, navigating with a cane, but he likes to think he's learning fast. The inside of the building smells of dust and and plastic. He thinks the floor of the building should be level, and is carpeted, so he folds the cane and takes Gabriel's hand instead. He feels Gabriel tense and he worries that he's  
overstepped, but Gabriel relaxes and gives his hand a light squeeze.

“Can you take me over to the shirts?”

“They're sorted by color. Any particular color you want?”

“Nah, let's just start at the beginning.” Gabriel leads him to his left, and Jack starts sorting through clothes based on texture and weight. Most are cheap or have holes, but he does find a soft, light shirt. He holds it up for Gabriel to see.

“What's the size?”

“Men's large.” It might be a little big on Jack, but who cares?

“Color?”

“White background with a floral print.”

“What kind of flowers?”

“Light pink peonies.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“You do know it's a crop top, right?”

“Your point being?”

Gabriel sighs. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

“Jack, you are 53 years old.”

“What's the point of having abs at 53 if nobody sees them, not even yourself? Plus, I don't even have to see the disgusted looks people give me when I dress horribly. Now come on and show me where the jeans are.”

Jack appears from the dressing room in the shirt, an oversized brown bomber jacket, light high waisted jeans, and black, flat soled sneakers.

“So how do I look?”

“You know those pictures of you from high school you showed me? You look exactly like that.”

“So, scrawny and horribly outdated?”

“If that's how you see yourself, why are you smiling so big?”

“Because I haven't worn clothes I actually liked since the Omnic Crisis. This isn't exactly what the UN considered appropriate attire for ‘Strike Commander Morrison,’ but now no one’s around to give a fuck if I dress like a millennial. So why not make the best of my impromptu retirement?”

“That's as good a reason as any, I guess.”

“Damn straight.”

“And, uh, Jack, when I said you looked like the way you were in high school, I wasn't trying to insult you. I mean you look… happy. Comfortable.”

“Aww, you think I'm pretty.” Maybe Gabriel did, but Jack didn't need to know that.

“You egotistical fuck-”

“Gabriel, prepare to catch me. I may swoon from all-consuming lust.”

“Whatever, let's find some clothes for me, after you change.”

—-

Gabriel hums as he studies the black shirt he took off the rack.

“Can I see what you found?”

“Sure.”

Jack puts his hands on the garment. From what he can tell, it's a t-shirt made of some sort of stretch fabric. He runs his fingers down the length of the shirt, and finds the hem much faster than expected. His face splits into a grin.

“Looks like someone wants to show off the abs they still have at 55.”

“If you're going to dress like a dumbass, I might as well join you. Also, for all you know, I might be really out of shape. I could have a beer gut.”

Jack presses his hand flat against Gabriel's stomach.

“Nah, still built like a brick wall.” He doesn't move his hand from Gabriel, only leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Jack, the cashier is staring.” Gabriel can feel his face flush, and the clichéd metaphor of butterflies in his stomach has become alarmingly accurate right now.

Jack smiles up at him. It's almost like when they first got together. The testing of boundaries through affection, the cautious hope, the honesty.

It's almost like that, if you forget that Jack's blind, Gabriel's dead, and all the rest of the bullshit that's happened in the past 30 years.

They walk to the cashier with the entirety of the outfit Jack picked out, a black hoodie, and the black crop top. The second before Gabriel pulls out some cash to pay, Sombra appears from behind the vaguely horrific display of Christmas decorations for sale. She pulls out a debit card from her sleeve, and Gabriel wonders how many pockets are on the inside of the black overcoat she wears, even as the cashier hands him a plastic bag of clothing. Does she go to a tailor? Did she sew them herself?

“Hey, can you lead me to the changing room? Sombra had a point earlier. Wearing someone else's blood-stained clothing is not ideal.”

—

After it was decided that Jack had exclusive rights to the passenger seat, and Sombra had stopped accusing Gabriel of favoritism (rightfully so), they set off for JFK airport.

“I already bought the tickets online and printed them out,” Sombra says, placing the papers on the console.

“Okay, it's nice that we have the bare minimum required for international travel, but we need contingency plans.”

“For what?” Jack crosses his arms over his chest, settling in for a long conversation. He remembers that Gabriel was the kind of person to not only have a plan B, but a plan C, D, all the way through Z.

“What if someone recognizes you, or thinks that Jack Goff sounds like a fake name, or, I don't know, Talon finds us?”

“Gabe, Talon has no idea where we are, and has no reason to suspect that either of us are alive.”

Sombra leans forward from the back seat. “Actually, about that…”

Gabriel lets his head fall against the steering wheel and groans.

“Alright, tell us the horrible news,” says Jack. He doesn't seem particularly concerned at this point.

“It's not that bad. When Gabriel started refusing missions to go on his road trip to look for you, they got suspicious. Talon agents started following Gabriel, but were always several steps behind. They didn't even put together that he was following your activity. Last time I intercepted a transmission from them, they were still in Dorado. And Talon have suspected Jack's alive ever since Zurich.”

“Well, obviously I know they're right about that, but why would they have reason to think that?”

“Same as Gabriel. Wishful thinking, mostly. No body found at Zurich, weird old guy with a pulse rifle and super soldier abilities shows up, they figure it's worth sending a small task force to investigate. Best case scenario, Talon gets to brainwash Jack Morrison, worst case scenario, Talon gets to brainwash a super soldier.”

“And where's that task force?”

“Uh, they're in Dorado too.”

“They haven't realized they're following the same trail?” Gabe scowled. This sounded like a disaster waiting to happen. If Talon finally put 2 and 2 together before they reached Overwatch, it was going to be a pain in the ass, if not a complete disaster.

Jack, apparently has a different view.

“That,” he laughs, “is absolutely fuckin’ hilarious.”

“Why?”

“I don't know, I just remember them being smarter when we were fighting them. There's two groups looking for each of us, following the same trail. Do you think they run into each other and are like ‘what a coincidence!’. I mean, you have to admit, it's a little funny.”

“I don't have to admit anything.”

“Come on, Gabe. Jack's right. It's a little funny.”

“Besides, if they catch up to us, you can just,” Jack makes a motion with his hands. “poof.”

“What about you? They'll either kill you or brainwash you.”

“Exactly. It's a win-win.”

“Is this, like, a thing now?”

“What?”

“You being casually suicidal.”

“Like you have any room to talk. Only difference is, I'm not entirely sure you can die.”

“I just haven't figured out how!” That was technically true. He hadn't ruled out decapitation or cremation yet.

“Aw, sounds like somebody's jealous of my mortality.”

“Do you guys just forget I'm here?” This is way more than Sombra wanted to know about either of them, and she is probably the nosiest person on the planet.

“Pretty much,” says Gabriel. Jack nods agreement.

“How about we just agree to wing it until we get to the watchpoint, just so we can stop talking about hypothetical suicide.”

They both agree to that.

—

The airport is crowded and noisy, so Jack's relying on his death grip on Gabriel's hand as much as his cane. It's a reminder there's someone by his side. He's not alone, drowning in the sea of chatter and echoing noise, feeling the vibrations of thousands of pairs of feet striking the tiled floor. The next several hours are hell, only made bearable by the quiet banter traded between him and Gabe. That and the look on people's faces when he told them his name or showed them his passport.

When they finally board the plane, it's a relief. It's more enclosed than the airport, and somehow less stifling. When he finds his seat, he's surprised by how he sinks into it, and that his long legs don't press against the seat ahead of him.

“Sombra, did you put us in first class?”

“Yep. Consider yourself lucky, Gabe. I considered putting you in Economy.”

“Why?”

“Revenge for you being a grumpy bastard the entire time I've worked with you, even though it turns out you're a pretty good guy.”

“As if you don't have a work persona.”

“I don't.”

“What about the one where you pretend you aren't manipulating everyone to achieve your goals?”

“Good point.” Sombra downs a flute of complimentary champagne in one gulp.

“Are you even old enough to drink champagne?”

“Gabe, how old do you think I am?”

“I don't know, 16?”

Sombra scowls. “Seriously?”

“What are you, then? 18?”

“I am 30 fucking years old.”

“What the actual fuck. How the hell have you existed for over half my lifetime. What the fuck.” Gabriel's sentences are structured like questions, but definitely sound like statements.

“Congrats on aging well,” says Jack mildly, sitting by the window.

“What about me made you think I was a teenager?”

“Your distaste for authority, aptitude for technology, and…” Gabriel trails off as he thinks better of what he was about to say.

“And what?” Sombra’s voice is dangerously low, almost a growl.

“Well, I was going to say, have you ever seen a 30 year old woman with half her head shaved, and what's left dyed purple?”

“That's what she looks like?”

“It's unique!”

“And recognizable. Unusual hairstyles are a stupid idea when you're not supposed to exist.”

“I did it for the aesthetic!”

“The Waluigi aesthetic?” Jack laughs in response to that, and Gabriel's glad he's with someone who's actually heard of and likes his favorite ancient games and movies.

“I have literally no idea what you just said, but I know it was insulting.”

“You need to brush up on your pre-crisis pop culture.”

“I don't, but that's not the point. I need to make myself clear. This was a business decision. You are way more likely to get work as a mercenary if you have some sort of gimmick. All the successful ones have something. You dress like a cowboy, an archer ninja, or death incarnate, you get job opportunities. So can you blame me for shaving a few slits in my eyebrows, dying my hair, really going for the cyberpunk theme? Because it worked.”

“No need to go on the defensive. You sound like a teenage girl.”

“I am done with this conversation.” Sombra turns on the tv screen on the back of the seat in front of her and puts on headphones.

Several hours later, Jack hears Sombra’s breathing even out, and knows she's asleep. He taps Gabriel's forearm lightly.

“Huh?”

“I know you're not gonna like this, and I should've brought this up sooner, but we need to talk about Angela. I wasn't sure if you would be ok with me bringing it up with Sombra around.” Jack can feel the muscles in his arm tense up underneath his hand.

“Jack, it's no big deal.”

“I just, I just wanted to let you know you have options. We don't have to stay. After we make the introduction, we can just duck out. Fuck off to France, or Los Angeles, or wherever you want.” Jack's hand traveled down Gabriel's arm to lace with his. Jack was gratified that Gabriel answered by lightly squeezing his hand almost immediately.

“What about Winston building you a new mask?”

“Don't care. That thing gave me migraines all the time anyways. Doesn't matter if I've got a shitty mask when I've got you and don't need to shoot anyone.”

“They way you talk about it, you're making it really hard to do the right thing. It sounds a lot more fun to just run away, instead of trying to make things right with them.”

“So you've made a decision?”

“Yeah. We don't have to stay there forever, but I've got to take responsibility before we go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, but…”

“What?”

“If I know Angela, she's going to offer you back your sight. I'm not going to tell you what to do, but you have to remember this. There is always a price for what she does. I paid it, Genji paid it, and you should think long and hard before you do.”

Jack laughs, and folds his legs under him. “Gabe, I don't need her to fix me. I'm not broken.”

Gabriel places his hand on the side of Jack's face, just like last night.

“Is this okay?”

“Of course.”

The kiss is slow and gentle. Before, Gabriel would've found it boring, but right now it just seems natural, smooth, like they could do this every day for the rest of their lives. Jack's the first to pull back, his smile as bright and beautiful as the setting sun Gabriel can see through the window.

“Not to complain or anything, but what was that for?”

Gabriel smiles. “I don't know, it's just, I have a really strong feeling we're going to be alright.”

Eight hours later, the plane lands at the Malaga airport, and Gabriel's internal organs seem to have migrated. Or at least that's what it feels like. His heart is in his throat, going a mile a minute. His stomach has dropped and all his senses are flooded with _wrong_. He has no idea what's going to happen at the watchpoint, but he knows one thing for certain. He is not going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done! Also, suicide is a sensitive topic for most people, and the characters tend to discuss it casually in this chapter. This is mostly based on my personal experience with depression and intrusive thoughts, and also the experiences others have shared with me while we were in psychiatric care.


	8. It's not home, but it's familiar.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Gabe arrive at the watchpoint  
> clothes: dated  
> extremities: smoking  
> eyesight: gone

They rent a car and drive to the base of The Rock. Gabriel watches the sun shine on the water as they drive by, and wishes he could enjoy it more. He doesn't know what the new Overwatch will do to him, but whatever happens, God knows he'll deserve it. Sombra is sleeping again in the backseat, snoring like a chainsaw.

“Gabe, I can practically hear you thinking.”

Shit, how the hell is Jack onto him?

“What?”

“I could be wrong, but you haven't said a full sentence since we decided to stay at the watchpoint. And you've been acting like you've got a stick up your ass for the past ten hours. Are you going to tell me what's wrong or not?”

“Definitely not.”

“You shouldn't repress stuff. Leads to resentment and Swiss explosions.”

“Oh, fuck you. Fine.” Jack laughs at this, covering his mouth after a second to avoid waking Sombra.

“Is it about seeing them again?”

“Got it in one.”

“It's not going to be as bad as you think. Jesse’s a friend, he'll be happy to see you alive.”

“We didn't exactly part on good terms.”

“What happened?”

“When we started planning the coup, Jesse found out, and wasn't entirely cool with a hostile takeover of Overwatch and your subsequent execution, if you can imagine that. He deserted Blackwatch immediately, and I haven't seen him since.”

“Weird. It always seemed like he didn't like me much.”

“And yet he was more loyal than I ever was.”

“Ok, what about Reinhardt? You two were friendly.”

“But you two were closer. He used to get pretty angry if people talked shit about you in the media. Imagine how mad he's going to be at the person that blinded and almost killed you. Reinhardt has both the ability and the motive to crush me under his boot into a fine paste.”

“Kinky.”

“And it's only a matter of time before they figure out I'm Reaper, and try to kill me.”

“However, you are physically incapable of dying by most methods.”

“Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when people try.”

“They're not going to try to kill you.”

“You tried to kill me when I showed up, like two days ago.”

“Well, then, I won't let them hurt you.”

“Jack, there are so many things I could point out about you that hinder your ability to protect anyone, such as your age, diet, and injuries, as well as a lack of sight, weapons, or armor.”

“You may mock me, but I am confident in my ability to punch every single person in that watchpoint right in the face. I did it to you. Twice. While I was sleeping.”

Jack hopes turning the conversation to Jack's fighting ability will distract from Gabriel's guilt, at least for a moment.

“Are you confident you can beat Reinhardt?”

“I don't need to. You think Reinhardt would punch a blind guy? I don't think the rules of chivalry allow for that.”

“Ana would beat the shit out of you and murder me in under ten minutes.”

“I don't think that's a rational fear, considering she's deader than disco.”

“I used to think that too, but if both of us are more or less alive, I'm not ruling out her coming back as a zombie sniper.” The sun is rising over the silhouette of the Rock of Gibraltar in the distance, making Gabriel grimace as it shines in his eyes.

“She was always the toughest of us three. I never thought she'd be the first to go.” They sit in silence for a moment, Gabriel dreading the future, Jack agonizing over the past.

“God, we're fucking depressing.”

“I know. We need a lighter topic.”

“Yeah, let's talk about our favorite colors, Jack,” Gabriel says, as sarcastic as he can.

“Pink. I never wore enough pink.”

“What on earth gave you the impression that was a serious suggestion?”

“Nothing. I just miss colors and shit.”

“You just got depressing again.”

“Whoops. Your turn now.”

“Jack, how long are we going to pretend we aren't incredibly sad and even more messed up?”

“Less than an hour, I believe. After that we'll have all our estranged friends and coworkers to remind us. Now, favorite color.”

Gabriel sighs. He's already said a million incredibly revealing things in the past two days, what's one more?

“It's still blue." Gabriel swallows his pride and continues on. "Your shade of blue.”

Jack flushes pink and laughs a little at that. “When you used to say all that sappy shit about my eyes, I thought you were just trying to get in my pants. Turns out you're just a romantic.”

“Well, I was trying to get in your pants, but I was also being romantic. It's called multitasking.”

“You're pissing me off here. I want to kiss you for how smooth you are, but I'd probably miss and end up head butting you.”

Gabriel reaches over and laces their fingers together. “In case you forgot, I am driving, so maybe don't do that right now.”

Jack squeezes his hand. “You're just smooth as ever, Reyes.”

“Nice to know I've kept my masculine charms.”

They spend the next ten minutes holding hands in companionable silence, until Sombra wakes up.

“Are we there yet?”

“Look out the window.” The Rock of Gibraltar stands tall, morning mist settling around the base of it and along the beach leading up to it.

Sombra whistles lowly. “I'm not looking forward to hiking up that.”

“What? Who said anything about hiking?” Jack turns his face to Sombra, a largely useless but dramatic gesture.

“How else do you get to the watchpoint?”

Sombra had intended for the question to sound rhetorical, but ends up sounding uncertain.

“You go through the tunnels. How else?”

“There are tunnels?”

—

As they walk along the beach, Jack can feel the rising sun warm his face, even as a cool breeze rolls off the ocean. Maybe a minute later, he decides to take off his shoes and thrust them in Gabriel's direction.

“Why are you giving me these…” Gabriel trails off as Jack walks into the ocean. The waves lap across his feet, and he can't help but dig his bare toes into the wet sand. Jack knows he's smiling like an idiot, but he doesn't want to stop. Sometimes the waves go higher and wash across his shins, soaking his jeans, but Jack can't bring himself to care.

“Jack, we've got shit to do.”

“Let me have some fun! I think you should try it sometime.”

Sombra shrugs at Gabriel, then kicks off the cheap flip flops she bought at the airport. She splashes some water at Jack's face, and he laughs. Despite the wrinkles and the white hair, Jack looks younger than he ever did as Strike Commander. Gabriel stares down at his black boots, and is hyper aware of the uncomfortable amount of sand in them.

Maybe, he thinks, he should stop agonizing over what he's done in the past, and work on making it up to the people he's hurt. He's not doing anything for Jack if he's standing on the dry sand, staring at him.

Gabriel sighs and bends down to untie his shoelaces.

—

The entrance to the tunnel is a couple hundred feet above the waves, neatly outlined by white brick, in direct contrast to the rough face of The Rock. It is also marked by several large, brightly colored signs, detailing punishment for trespassing from that point forward. Punishments included incarceration, semi-million-dollar fines, and execution at the hands of a very large, very private gorilla. That last one was only implied, though.

These warnings were largely useless, as the tunnel is blocked by a door made of titanium alloy and almost two feet thick.

Sombra frowns at the sight of it. She moves around the door, sometimes squatting for a better angle, running her hands along the edges and corners. She sighs, turning around to Gabriel.

“Well, this is going to take a lot more than I thought it would. This shit is older than the dinosaurs, I don't even know what I have to hack to get it open, and I'm probably going to need some tools from town…” She trails off with a shrug.

“How long will it take?”

“A couple days, more likely a whole week.”

“We don't have that much time.”

“I know.”

Gabriel looks down at his hands. He feels rested, full, stable. He's pretty sure that his hands could do a lot of damage right now.

“I could break it open, probably.”

“Gabriel, you're a big guy, but you're not that big.”

“I've flipped a couple cars before, destroyed a few Russian mechs. It's not the same as breaking a door, but I think if I stretch the nanites enough, I could make it work.”

“That's hot and all, but I could just open it with the passcode,” says Jack. Gabriel turns his head to face Jack so fast, it feels like he gave himself whiplash.

“What?”

“Yeah, I think the keypad’s around here somewhere…” Jack runs his hands across the brick, until he finds a thin, almost imperceptible seam in the wall. He digs his fingernails into the gap and lifts up the cover, revealing the keypad. He punches the ten-digit code in, then smiles as the door rumbles open, decades-old machinery grumbling in protest. Jack extends his cane when feels the rush of cool, damp air coming from the tunnels.

Gabriel shivers as he enters the tunnel, each step taking him away from the sun, and towards everyone he's never wanted to see again. As they walk, the fluorescent lights turn on, lighting the way. Though Gabriel knows it's just the motion detectors at work, it still sets him on edge. His breaths come faster and harder, and he hopes to God he won't start hyperventilating. He breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like he learned when he was a kid. It doesn't stop the fear or the shaking, but it helps him regulate his breathing. It's only then that he realizes Sombra's been staring at him.

“What?” Maybe he barks the word out a little too harshly, but she'll get over it.

“Gabe,” she says, her brow furrowed in something between concern and fascination, “you're breathing out black smoke.”

Fuck, she's right. Smoke trails from his fingertips, billows forth from his mouth. He needs to pull himself together.

Jack turns around, and catches his arm by the elbow. He slides his hand down and laces their fingers together. Gabriel can't help but squeeze Jack's hand and sigh in relief.

Ten minutes of walking and an elevator ride later, they stand outside the cafeteria doors, still underground. There was a mess hall in the small portion of the watchpoint on the surface, but it was smaller and typically went unused. Almost 80 percent of the watchpoint was below ground.

“Alright, so how are we going to do this? Do we just barge in and start looking for people? Because that sounds like a good way to get shot.” Sombra has a point there.

“You could send a message to Winston,” offers Jack.

“A mysterious message from an unknown source claiming two dead men are standing outside the cafeteria? They won't believe that.” Sombra starts pacing, turning the question over and over in her mind.

Gabriel smiles, his teeth a little too long and sharp to be mistaken for human. “What if Jack told them himself?”

“I'm supposed to be dead. They're not going to believe me either.”

“Just trust me on this. Sombra, can you hack the PA system?”

“You insult me, Gabe.”

Gabe turns to Jack, taking hold of his hands.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

Jack sighs. “Alright.”

Sombra presses her phone into Jack's hand. “You're live.”

Jack takes a deep breath, and tries to sound like he knows what he's doing, like he has any authority at all.

“This is Jack Morrison. I am with Blackwatch Commander Reyes and the mercenary known as Sombra. Meet us in the subterranean cafeteria in ten minutes.” He hears Sombra tap the screen and lets the breath he didn't know he was holding go.

He smiles shakily at Gabriel. “We've still got ten minutes to get the fuck out of here.”

“No you don't,” says Sombra, slipping her phone into her pocket. “We have a deal.”

Gabriel laughs. All he has to do is not run away for ten minutes, then the waiting is over.

Sombra spends her ten minutes scrolling through her feed and answering messages. Jack spends his swaying back and forth and humming the choruses to a hundred different songs. All the while, his cold hand is in Gabriel's warm one, grounding him.

Sombra looks up from her screens. “It's time to meet the family.” She's fighting a smirk, and Gabriel rolls his eyes. She's clearly delighted with how uncomfortable he is.

Right before Jack types in the code, he turns around, a smile on his face.

“How long do you think I can fool them into thinking I can see anything?”

It's such an unprofessional stunt to pull, Gabriel can't help but laugh at the thought.

“It'd probably take Jesse a whole week.”

Jack folds up his cane and slips it into his pocket as he enters the code. As the door opens, Gabriel steps forward and takes hold of Jack's hand once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright it's done! but not really because i gotta write a Fuckton of oneshots for this series. also if you're reading this months or years after it's finished, don't be afraid to leave feedback! i will read it and love you

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, kicking off my first multi-chapter! Please leave comments, suggestions for the plot, and writing advice! I require feedback to improve my writing, so please consider it. I'm probably making these old men ooc by making them this nice to each other, but I just want them to be happy.


End file.
